


Lessons, Or A Series of Unfortunate Events in the Life of Andrew Hurley

by eleanor_lavish



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-04
Updated: 2007-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-19 22:39:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleanor_lavish/pseuds/eleanor_lavish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Patrick was seventeen, he knocked on the door at Andy's mom's house and asked the question that would pretty much fuck Andy Hurley for the next four years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
I.  


"So, um," he stood in Andy's room, his sneakers nervously nudging the pile of books and comics at his feet, "I was wondering if you could... could you teach me how to kiss?"

(Andy still remembers what he was doing at that moment, because he happened to be feeding the fish in his tank, and he ended up dumping in about thirty _pounds_ of food and even though he frantically scooped most of it out, Mr. Pink kicked it the next day.)

"What?" Andy's head whipped up to stare at Patrick, _little Patrick_ , who was wearing jeans and a ratty blue t-shirt and who was currently a shade of red Andy hadn't seen on him since... well, ever.

"I saw you last week at that party, with Jen Abrams, and she was really into it, and I was hoping you could show me that thing you did. When she made that noise?"

Andy had a moment of _Make sure not to make out with anyone in front of my bandmates again_ before replying, "Trick, man, you know I'm not..."

Patrick's eyes were wide, and he put his hands out, shaking them at Andy. "No, no, I know that..."

"Because, you know, I mean... it just seems like maybe this is more a Pete area."

And bless him, Patrick actually blushed _harder_ and stammered out "Right, well, usually. But... it's just..." and Andy finally caught up.

"Oh." Right. Of course. And it's not like they all hadn't seen _that_ coming. Andy sighed. "Patrick..."

"Please." Patrick had kissed exactly one person before, _ever_ (Molly Francis, eighth grade, in her mom's car), which they all knew after a rousing game of "Get To Know Your New Band" fueled by Pete's insatiable need to tell everyone everything about himself. And now Patrick wanted to kiss _Pete_ and was freaking out. He spoke so quietly Andy could barely hear him. "I don't know who else to ask, and I don't want to mess it up." He stood stock still and stared at Andy with those wide eyes and Andy crumbled.

"Okay." They stood blinking at each other for almost a minute before Andy rolled his eyes and took a step forward. "C'mere." Patrick took a few stumbling steps around the crap on Andy's floor until they were toe-to-toe.

(This is the point, looking back, where Andy starts yelling at himself not to do it. Because after this everything gets really crystal clear, and really extra hot, and Andy's sure that his memory has to be playing tricks on him because it wasn't honestly that great, but yeah. Totally fucked.)

"I don't know where..." Patrick started, waving a hand around. Andy caught it and placed it squarely on his hip.

"You need a good anchor, somewhere to put your hands. Hips are good. Also," he reached a hand out and curled it around the side of Patrick's neck. His skin was incredibly soft, and there was _stubble_ and Andy paused and blinked again. He cleared his throat and Patrick exhaled slowly. "Anyway, this gives you some control, you know? You can lead." To demonstrate, Andy squeezed Patrick's neck just a fraction, turning his head up and tilting it slightly. His lips were parted already and Patrick licked them, slowly.

(So. fucked. Andy usually just puts his head in his hands at this point in his memory.)

Patrick reached a hand up and mirrored Andy's, cupping the side of his head and running his thumb along the line of Andy's jaw. "So once I have an anchor, I just..." Patrick leaned in and Andy finally remembered the Golden Rule of Patrick Stump. If you decide you're going to do something that scares the crap out of you-- join a band, stage dive, kiss a boy-- just grit your teeth and _do it_.

Patrick's mouth was perfect. That was pretty much a given. Andy'd never given much thought to it, aside from the occasional jealous stab every time someone mentioned it. If he'd bothered to think further, it would have stood to reason that a mouth like that would be made for kissing. But he hadn't, and so Andy was now stuck in this moment of insane shock as Patrick's lips (perfect) met his with _just_ the right amount of pressure and Andy's fingers tightened minutely around Patrick's neck. Patrick responded instantly (perfectly), lips parting just a fraction to let Andy's tongue swipe along his bottom lip, following Andy's lead with every movement.

(Again, Andy's pretty sure his memory is a little wonky here, as he thinks there was some nose-bumping and a bit more shifting than was strictly necessary, but that only lasted a few seconds before the kiss hit it's stride, carrying them both through it, wave after wave of Andy's tongue sliding gently along Patrick's, Patrick's hand tugging Andy closer, Andy's fingers sliding a fraction under the hem of Patrick's t-shirt, Patrick making that _noise_ , the one Jen made whenever Andy flicked his tongue _just so_...)

It was the noise that brought Andy back to his senses, and he pulled away quickly, panting. Patrick looked dazed and flushed, his mouth wet and promising. Andy looked away. "I think you're fine, Trick," he managed a degree of levity he really, _really_ didn't feel. "Just do it like that, and he won't be able to resist you." He looked back up to see Patrick smiling at him, the same open, puppy-dog grin he'd been wearing the first time they met. The kind you only wear when you're seventeen and have no idea how perfect your mouth is.

"Thanks," he laughed and hugged Andy, who barely managed not to flinch. "I'm gonna…" and he motioned to the door and practically ran out, eager to put his lesson into practice.

Andy sat on his bed and stared at his feet.

  
II.

After Pete and Patrick locked themselves in the van for three hours, talking and yelling and crying, it was over before it began. One kiss, one fight, and one self-sacrificing act from Pete Wentz. Andy was amazed. Give Pete some ambition and an adorable musical genius of his very own and the guy grows a conscience. Pete was self-aware enough to know that his dating Patrick would lead to his breaking Patrick’s heart and Pete loved him enough to never want that to happen. Everyone was relieved in the end, except for Patrick. He just got quiet. Well, quieter.

For about four months, Andy watched Patrick draw away from them all a little, all small smiles and business attitude. Whatever he was feeling about Pete was channeled into the music and he churned out one brilliant song after another. Pete and Patrick were on a roll and – dating or not – Andy couldn’t help but be jealous of their connection. That one, small, inconsequential kiss kept coming back to haunt Andy at night and he spent hours in rehearsal actively not staring at Patrick’s mouth, or his hands on the fret of his guitar, or the way his neck curved, pale and flawless, under his collar.

The months flew by fast. Andy finally quit saying yes to any other band in need of a drummer and settled into an FOB-only existence. Pete booked them shows three states away. Patrick and Joe finally graduated from high school and they moved into the van permanently, driving 10,000 miles one month, 12,000 the next. They would all fall asleep on each other in the van at night-- Charlie driving hard until dawn, Pete talking quietly on his cell phone, Patrick curled up into Andy’s side breathing softly. Andy had never been so exhausted in his life, or so sure of anything.

By the end of that summer, Patrick’s lesson was finally being put into practice too—on a pretty girl with short hair and dark eyes in Filmore, a skater punk in Akron, a guy old enough to know better in Camden. That one was too much for Andy, opening to the door to the alley outside the club to find him pressing Patrick into the brick wall, thigh rubbing slowly against Patrick’s groin, Patrick’s hands anchored on his hip and neck like some porny version of 10-and-2.

“Hey!” Andy grabbed the guy’s arm and pulled him back, Patrick’s eyes blinking open, dazed.

“What?” the guy spit out. “He’s legal!”

“Yeah, which I bet is really interfering with your getting off on it, asshole,” Andy growled back.

The guy stalked off and Patrick smacked him on the arm. “He _liked_ me, you dick.”

Andy wheeled on him fast and Patrick was standing close, flushed, mouth still wet. Andy had a moment’s vision of pushing Patrick back against the brick himself, his own leg slipping between Patrick’s solid thighs, making Patrick gasp. He took a firm step back and ran a hand through his hair. “ _God_ , Trick. You just don’t _get_ it.”

“Get what?” Patrick retorted, crossing his arms.

“There are going to be a hell of a lot of people who like you for all the wrong reasons,” Andy noted quietly, unable to meet his eyes.

“Hey.” Patrick paused until Andy looked back at him. “I think I can figure out which is which on my own, okay?”

Andy just sighed and nodded. Patrick gave him a half smile and brushed past him to go back inside. Andy leaned against the wall and stared into the darkness, making a mental note to keep a closer eye on Patrick after gigs. Also, to tell Pete that it was time to have a conversation with Patrick about good touching and bad touching.

As it happened, the whole thing was rendered moot about a month later. They had a few concerts at home and the whole band was riding the high of being in Chicago, where back rooms were packed with kids who knew every word and screamed for Pete to jump in and dance with them (which he always did). Patrick wasn’t nervous at any of these shows anymore, stomping and kicking and laughing and letting the girls in the front row tug on his t-shirts. Chicago shows were always the best.

After a show in early October, Patrick spent the whole night talking to a boy from NIU. By the next afternoon the whole band knew that his name was Tom, and he was a sophomore marketing major, and his dad was a lawyer, and he had the prettiest blue eyes. Andy sat through the blue eyes comment four times before snapping “We got it, Patrick. Can you sing now?” Pete shook his head at Andy, smiling as if to say _Ah, young love._ Andy went home and stared at the ceiling.

As it turned out, Tom was an okay guy. He was age appropriate at least, and not weirdly grabby when he came to shows. Mainly he stood at the back and smiled at Patrick a lot. He was moderately boring, but Andy thought everyone in business was moderately boring so he wasn’t a great judge. Between the band’s tour schedule and Tom’s classes, they only saw each other once a week at most, but Patrick spent hours a night on the phone with him, talking excitedly about nothing. Andy bought earphones for the van and got used to sleeping without Patrick slumped over him.

The second week of December, Andy was holed up in his bedroom, sketchpad open on his lap. He was stuck again, the pencil hovering above the page aching to draw Patrick’s profile. Andy had about thirty pictures of Patrick scattered throughout his books these days and he was making a concerted effort not to add another. His door was open, so he was surprised to hear a knock. When he looked up, Patrick was there, hands twisted awkwardly behind him.

“Hey,” he guiltily shut the sketchpad and tossed it to the floor.

“Hey,” Patrick tried a smile, but his eyes kept darting from the wall over Andy’s head to Andy’s feet and back again. He wore the same moderately embarrassed look he’d had almost a year before and Andy’s breathing shallowed.

“What’s up, man?”

Patrick looked at him quickly and took a step into the room, closing the door behind him. He leaned on it, trapping his hands behind his back and let out a long breath before chuckling nervously. “So, um. I need a favor.”

 _Right._ The déjà vu was strong enough to make Andy’s stomach clench.

“What do you need?” He managed to ask without sounding like a man who was having a heart attack.

“Tom’s folks are out of town next weekend, and we don’t have a show until Sunday, so I’m staying with him. And I think we’re gonna, you know…”

Andy’s eyes went huge. “I’m not teaching you how to fuck, Patrick. This is _really_ a Pete area.”

Patrick turned that adorable, unnatural shade of pink. “No! God, just… no. I wouldn’t ask… _fuck_.” He pulled his hands from behind his back and hid his face behind them for a minute. He pulled them away and took a deep breath, forging ahead. Andy once again spared a minute to be in awe of Patrick’s ability to say horribly embarrassing things. “I don’t think we’re there yet, you know? We’ve only had, like, six actual dates, and three of those were shows I played. But I think he’s kind of expecting… and I want to, you know? But I’ve never actually done it before,”

“Patrick…” Andy cut in, but Patrick ignored him.

“And the last time I asked you, it was really good, you know? Even though it didn’t really work out as intended. But I wasn’t nervous at all about the kissing part, and I think this is another of those things where a trial run would be a good idea…”

“Oh, God, Patrick…” Andy’s voice was a little desperate.

“So I just want, you know, to _try_ and you can tell me if I’m doing something totally wrong, and I _can’t_ ask Pete, you know that, so you’re really the only option, Andy.” Andy was staring at him and Patrick just stared back. When Andy didn’t speak, he slowly deflated. “Please. Just one blowjob.”

Andy couldn’t help himself. He giggled. It was just… possibly the most insane thing anyone had ever said to him. He’d thought of it before, Patrick’s perfect mouth on his cock. It was one of those fantasies that he didn’t pull out often because he always just felt worse after, but it worked better than anything else in his arsenal for getting him off fast. And now Patrick was _asking him if it was okay_. With a please and everything. Andy’s life had officially become surreal.

Patrick’s jaw set tight when Andy laughed, and he stood up straight and turned fast, hand on the doorknob. “Fine, sorry, just figured it was worth a shot.”

Andy should have let him go and apologized later.

Instead, he shoved himself off his bed and over to the door, his hand closing around Patrick’s arm. “No, sorry. I just wasn’t expecting that, okay? Don’t go.” Andy was already half-hard when Patrick leaned back into him, sighing.

“I don’t want him know I’ve never done it before. I’m the rock star, right? How lame would that be?”

 _You’re the eighteen year old musical genius who wears argyle and glasses_ , Andy wanted to remind him. He doubted Tom would be all that surprised at Patrick’s lack of experience. Then again, the way crowds lusted after him, he wouldn’t be surprised if Tom spent half his time at shows listening to other people talk about how much they wanted to bang his boyfriend. Tom might have some odd expectations.

“Look, it wouldn’t be lame. If he likes you, I think he’d be happy he’s your first, you know?” Andy hooked his chin over Patrick’s shoulder.

Patrick’s eyes were closed and he tipped his head back, his neck exposed half an inch from Andy’s lips. Andy closed his eyes too. “What if I’m terrible at it, though?”

“You did pretty well last time,” Andy reminded him, smiling. “Have you ever, you know, _gotten_ one? That’s decent for learning how it works.”

Patrick let out a noise that was half laugh, half groan. “Once, in Iowa. It didn’t last long enough for me to learn anything.”

“Ah,” Andy grinned despite himself. “Yeah, that happens sometimes.”

Patrick turned and looked at Andy seriously, taking his hand. “I know its kind of a big deal, but I can’t ask Pete because of the whole… you know, Pete thing. And I figured you wouldn’t get weird about it. I mean, you were really cool about the kissing stuff.”

Andy nodded and tried not to throw up. “If you really want to, I guess… okay.”

Patrick’s smile could be seen three blocks away. Andy was so going to hell.

“So, I guess…” but Patrick’s hand was curled on his hip already and Andy took an involuntary step forward.

Patrick leaned closer, fingers tangled in Andy’s belt loops, and paused half an inch from his lips. “Unless you rather just skip right to…” and Andy kissed him.

 _Christ_ , Patrick had been practicing. Andy pressed close, both hands cupping his face until Patrick’s back was against Andy’s bedroom door, his hand on Andy’s neck pulling him closer. Andy lost track of how long they stood there, Andy’s thumb rubbing a small circle into the sensitive skin under Patrick’s ear, Patrick’s fingers slipping into Andy’s hair. Andy finally got sick of fighting for space with Patrick’s hat and knocked it to the floor. He smiled when Patrick tried to catch it, pulling back in horror. “Dude,” Andy grinned, “I know what you look like under there, remember?”

The answering grin was enough to take Andy’s breath away. “I know, it’s just…” he shrugged. “So, maybe we should move.” The hand on his hip pushed until Andy was walking backward to his bed, Patrick guiding him with tiny movements. His knees hit the mattress and he paused. Patrick’s eyes clouded for a second. “You really don’t have to do this.”

 _And I shouldn’t because you’re one of my best friends, and I’m taking advantage even if you don’t know it, and this is the last thing on earth that will help me get over you,_ Andy’s conscience screamed. “I know,” he said.

Patrick’s eyes had turned an intense green, and Andy was so fascinated by them he literally gasped when Patrick’s fingers slipped under his shirt and began to tug it up. “Patrick, what...”

“So you can see; I need you to be able to tell me if I look like an idiot.” Patrick’s laugh was a little breathless and Andy just nodded stupidly as he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor.

Patrick expected him to _watch_? Andy was so totally going to hell.

Patrick’s fingers hovered nervously at the button of Andy’s jeans. “Do you want me to just, um, _start_? I know this isn’t your thing usually, with guys, so if you need a minute…”

Andy gaped at him for a second, smiling slowly. “’m good, I think.” He took hold of Patrick’s hand and pressed it gently against the front of his pants, eyes fluttering as fingers pressed into his cock which was clearly _not_ in need of a minute. Andy thought he heard Patrick’s breath hitch.

“Guess they don’t really gender discriminate,” he covered lamely, and Andy avoided an eye roll solely because Patrick stilled his nervous fingers by sliding them firmly up Andy’s cock, past his zipper, and flipping open the button with a flourish.

Andy cleared his throat and tried to find a place to stare that wasn’t Patrick’s hand or Patrick’s mouth. He settled on his ear. “Good start,” he noted as Patrick’s fingers worked his zipper and slipped past the waist of his jeans. He could tell when Patrick smiled and refocused his gaze a little farther away, on the poster of Nirvana tacked up on the wall across his room. He wondered for a minute if Dave Grohl ever had these kinds of problems. Probably not.

He was snapped back full force when Patrick pulled off a move Andy had only seen in porn films, sliding to his knees excruciatingly slowly and peeling Andy’s clothes off at the same time—jeans, briefs and all—until they pooled at his ankles. He gazed down as Patrick glanced up, looking incredibly thoughtful. He took his glasses off and placed them on Andy’s nightstand. “You may want to...”

Andy sat down hard on the edge of his bed. Patrick smiled.

“Cool.”

Patrick dropped his eyes to Andy’s cock, which was already leaking. Andy worried that this lesson wouldn’t last long enough for Patrick to learn a fucking thing, and they’d have to do it again. And again. Patrick’s fingers ghosted nervously up his thighs and his breath was close enough to warm Andy’s skin.

“So. Do I…?” Patrick didn’t look up when he asked, and Andy bit the inside of his cheek as cool fingers wrapped around him gently. “Andy?” he looked up this time, uncertain.

And _fucking hell_ , he was expected to _talk_ through this? Andy took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah, that works.”

Patrick quirked half a smile and raised his eyebrows in a ‘then what?’ expression.

"Well," Andy exhaled slowly, "what do you want to try?"

Patrick's thumb ran up ridge of his cock and over the head, smearing a bit of precum over it. Andy gripped the edge of the bed and willed his hips to stay still. Patrick lifted his hand to his mouth and flicked his tongue over the pad of his thumb before sucking it in to the knuckle. He smiled again, blushing lightly. “You taste like me.”

And there was a mental image for Andy’s arsenal—Patrick lying on his bed, coming hard into his own hand, lifting his hand tentatively to his mouth. Andy swallowed hard and blinked down at him. Suddenly, it was like some slow motion replay of Andy’s personal fantasy as Patrick’s hand wrapped around him again, the other sitting restlessly on Andy’s thigh. It was all soft focus (though that could be blamed on Andy’s inability to keep his eyes fully open through it) as Patrick leaned in and did the same move on his cock, flicking his tongue against the head quickly and pulling back for a moment before opening his perfect lips and sliding the whole head into his mouth.

Hell was so totally going to be worth it.

As much as Patrick’s mouth had been made for kissing, it really seemed to excel in all areas. First of all, it was _big_ , wide enough to not feel any stretch as he slid half-way down Andy’s cock and then pulled back with a slow, steady suction. _Fucking little musical genius cocksucking savant_ , Andy thought to himself. _Of course._ He bit back a moan as Patrick repeated the move, his hand squeezing gently at the base this time.

Andy threw his head back and stared at the ceiling; he tried not to think about anything. Not about Patrick, or what his mouth was currently doing, or about Pete if he knew this was going on, or the upcoming weekend, and Tom’s tan skin. He thought about whether Patrick would wear his hat when he did this with Tom, and thought he probably would, and at that Andy glanced down at Patrick’s bare head, ginger hair wild from the excitement of being set free, and allowed himself a moment of smugness that Patrick was comfortable enough with him to forget like that.

Patrick chose that moment to look up at him, and the smugness must have shown as something else because he pulled off slowly, eyes blinking questioningly. “Andy?”

“Yeah?” He tried for nonchalant, but the word came out too quietly.

Patrick smiled at him shyly. “Um. What do you like?”

Andy laughed. “Well, that was just… fine, Trick.”

“I know,” Patrick replied, rolling his eyes a bit. “But this is supposed to be, I don’t know. Educational. Do I look like an idiot?” His eyes opened wider as he reached up to tug his fingers through his hair. Andy caught his shoulder before he could twist and look for his hat.

“You do not look like an idiot. You look… really hot.”

Patrick shook his head and smiled, but leaned closer when Andy rubbed his shoulder gently. “Shut up.”

“You do, okay? And you’re doing fine, and this…” Andy sighed. “You don’t need the practice. And what I like may not be what he likes, so there’s not a lot of point to that question.”

“Yeah,” Patrick replied, eyes cast straight ahead like Andy’s cock was mesmerizing. Considering it was probably the only one he’d ever seen close up besides his own, Andy wasn’t shocked. Slightly nauseated, maybe. And incredibly turned on. But not shocked. “I want you to like it, though. I want… it’s like a thank you.” His hand slipped back up Andy’s thigh and around his cock, fingers more confident this time. “So what do you like?”

Since _”You.”_ wasn’t a proper response, Andy managed to stammer out “Really, what you were doing was good. Um. Maybe a little...”

“Deeper?” Patrick finished for him, and licked a wet streak from the spot where his cock met his balls all the way up to the head again, drawing Andy into his mouth. Andy’s response wasn’t really a word, but he figured the affirmative was implied when Patrick’s lips slid down inch-by-inch, stopping occasionally to pull back a little with gentle suction. It felt so fucking unbelievably good that it took Andy a full minute before he realized what Patrick was trying to do.

“Trick,” he managed, his fingers squeezing the nape of Patrick’s neck. “You don’t have to,”

But Patrick’s only possible reply was a _hum_ , and that was enough to finally buck Andy’s hips minutely off the bed, fingers tangling in Patrick’s hair. He stared down mutely as Patrick flicked his gaze up before inhaling deeply through his nose and sliding all the way to the base of Andy’s cock.

Combined with a singer’s breath support, Patrick’s mouth was apparently made for deep throating on top of everything else. As he pulled back gloriously slowly, Andy thought there should be a shrine to Patrick’s mouth somewhere, and maybe his eyes too, all green when he was concentrating, and Andy hated himself and really hated Tom and really, really loved Patrick. Which was the last thought he had before he was coming hard into Patrick’s mouth, no warning at all, and Patrick was _swallowing_ and this was possibly the best head Andy had ever gotten.

He fell back onto the bed with a slight groan, his eyes unfocused. When he got his bearings well enough to prop himself up on his elbows, Patrick was already standing and reaching for his glasses.

“Hey,” Andy furrowed his eyebrows and reached out a hand. “Where’re you going?”

Patrick sat on the edge of the bed and squeezed Andy’s fingers. “Home. Dinner’s in half an hour.” He cleared his throat. “So…?”

“So?” Andy blinked at him, Patrick’s eyebrows raised in question. Andy fell to the bed laughing. “So, A fucking plus, Patrick. I don’t want to know _how_ much porn you’ve been watching, but yeah. You’re good. I can pretty much guarantee he won’t know you’re a novice.”

Patrick smiled the four hundred watt grin again and Andy rolled onto his side. He tugged his hand free of Patrick’s and let it fall lightly to Patrick’s thigh.

“Trick?” He needed to ask, even though parts of him were literally _dying_ from the shame of it. His fingers rubbed a slow circle on Patrick’s leg. “Do you want me to…”

Patrick blinked at him. “What?”

Andy shook his head and smiled. God, the kid was adorable. “Return the favor, man.” His voice was strangely hoarse.

“What, no!” Andy stilled his hand as Patrick shook his head quickly. “You don’t have to do that, Andy.”

“Right,” Andy replied stiffly, sitting up and leaning over to tug his pants back up, leaving the button undone.

“No, I just… I know that’s not your thing, and I don’t want you thinking I _expect_ …” Patrick was more flushed now than he’d been during his ‘lesson’.

“You _should_ , Patrick! Here,” he turned and made sure Patrick was looking him in the eye. “One of Andy Hurley’s Golden Rules of Sex. Ready? If you give someone _amazing_ head, and they don’t offer to return the favor, they are not worth your time. It’s a sign of selfishness, no excuses. Okay? Just walk away.”

Patrick nodded gravely, pushing his glasses up his nose and licking his lips absently. Andy wondered if he kissed Patrick right then, if he would still be able to taste himself. If Patrick would be able to still taste him at dinner at his parents’ house. “I got it. I just think… it would be like cheating, if I let you… I did this for _him_ , you know? And it would kind of fuck it up if I got something in return. Does that make sense?”

Andy swallowed hard, because yeah. It made perfect sense. “Of course, man. Just following my own rules, you know?” he managed a rueful half smile and Patrick chuckled.

“Okay. So. We’re cool, right?”

“Yeah, we’re cool,” Andy allowed himself one more gesture, his fingers pushing the hair off Patrick’s forehead before Patrick stood up and walked to the door. He grabbed his hat and tugged it on, turning to smile again as he slipped out the door.

Andy lay in bed until his mom came to check on him the next morning.


	2. Chapter 2

III.

On Saturday, Andy woke up restless and agitated. He called Pete and blew off their movie and got in his car. He drove aimlessly, his CD player cranking System of a Down. After two hours, he admitted to himself that it was a damn good thing he didn’t have any idea where Tom lived. After three, he admitted that okay, fine, maybe this Patrick thing wasn’t just going to go away. After three and a half—the last thirty minutes of which had been spent replaying Patrick’s afternoon in his room, the feeling of Patrick’s mouth on him, the slide of his tongue, his hair soft under Andy’s fingers—Andy pulled off the road into a small deserted parking lot and jerked off in his car.

He sat blinking at the blue cloth roof for a long time, his head buzzing. Patrick didn’t think of him as anything more than a friend. Except possibly a practice dummy. Not that he had any reason to. Not that Andy _wanted_ him to. He slammed his hand into the ceiling of the car until it was burned red from the fabric.

After an hour, Andy started his car and drove straight into the city and parked at Highland. There was really only one thing in the world that hurt more than the dull ache in his chest and for the next few hours Andy was grateful for it.

**

Andy had almost forgotten about the new tattoo a week later. The sting was gone and the lines screamed orange and red across his back, his backpiece wider and brighter. They’d been rehearsing in Pete’s garage with the door closed to keep out the cold, and after two hours it was hot enough that Andy took off his shirt. He tossed it behind his drum kit, narrowly missing his glasses. Patrick was behind him fiddling with some amp wires and Andy almost jumped out of his skin when he felt tentative fingers on his shoulder.

“Is this new?” Patrick asked quietly and Andy nodded as his fingers traced down Andy’s back. “I like it. It’s dark, but I can’t tell if the orange makes it brighter or more angry.”

Andy looked over his shoulder and blinked at Patrick. “That’s the point, a little. I wasn’t sure either…”

“Cool,” Patrick smiled at him and Andy felt himself smiling back.

After practice, Pete slung an arm around Patrick’s shoulders while Andy and Joe took apart Andy’s kit. “So, big plans with your college boy this weekend?”

Patrick didn’t answer right away. Andy focused on the straps of his drum cases rather than see his flushed smile.

“Hey, you okay Trick?” Andy’s head snapped up at Pete’s tone. Patrick had pulled himself away and was busying himself with his amp.

“’M fine,” he noted quickly, winding a cord around his elbow. “Tom and I broke up,” he added breezily, not quite looking Pete in the eye. Andy froze.

“Man, that fucking sucks, dude,” Pete placed a comforting hand at the nape of Patrick’s neck. He didn’t press for details.

Patrick just shrugged. “Whatever. The touring bullshit was really getting to him and god knows I’ll be doing that until I die at this rate, so we just, you know. It’s for the best, probably.”

“Yeah,” Joe stood up and grinned at him. “Free and easy, man. That’s the best plan anyhow. Bros before, well, okay that doesn’t really work, huh?”

Patrick laughed but Andy noticed that it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Absolutely, dude. Bros before whatever.” Andy came up behind him and opened the garage door. He didn’t say anything; just let Patrick follow him out.

The car was pretty much packed before Andy said a word, leaning in close, but not too close. Patrick’s usually pale skin was flushed from the wind and Andy was horrified by how strong the urge was to tuck an errant lock of hair behind Patrick’s ear. “You really okay?” he almost whispered, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Pete was still in the house.

“Yeah,” Patrick’s smile was thin but real. “It didn’t… it’s fine.”

“What happened?” Andy asked, and almost winced as it came out of his mouth. It wasn’t any of his business, really, and Patrick would volunteer the information if he wanted to but--

“He broke your Golden Rule,” Patrick said, flushing brighter and not looking up from where he was scraping the frost off his mom’s windshield. “And you’re right. It totally sucked.”

“Oh,” Andy said. _Tom’s a fucking idiot_ , Andy thought. Patrick shot him another half-smile and shrugged into the car. As he backed out of the driveway, Andy waved. When Patrick smiled wider, Andy’s stomach flipped so hard he almost threw up.

 _I am so totally fucked,_ he finally admitted to himself. _But at least he’s single now._ Andy decided that four weeks was good. A respectable month post-breakup and he could maybe, possibly talk to Patrick about this… thing. That he was feeling.

**

Three months later, Andy was still jerking off in the shower to fantasies of Patrick bent over the seat of the van and Patrick was still none the wiser.

“Hey,” Patrick sat down in the booth and grinned at Andy and Pete. “Did we order?”

“We did, and you’re having the tempeh BLT.” Pete kicked rhythmically at the seat. Patrick hummed in thanks. Andy actively studied his cell phone and not Patrick’s mouth. “You coming to the show tonight?” The Academy was playing and Pete promised William… well, Pete promised William all sorts of things. Andy had already begged out.

“Can’t,” Patrick stole Andy’s Dew and took a long sip before sliding it back across the table. “I have a thing.”

Pete’s eyebrows rose.

“It’s nothing! It’s a nothing thing. With a person.” Patrick was pink, and Andy pretended to type while trying not to crush his phone.

“Trick.” Pete said, grinning. “You have a date.”

“Yes.” Patrick tugged his hat lower and glared at Pete. “Fuck off.”

Pete uncrossed his legs and leaned forward on his elbows. As he opened his mouth, Patrick cut him off. “Her name is Anna. I met her at a vinyl shop. Yes, she’s taller than me. Yes, she’s legal. No, she doesn’t want to sleep with you. I have no idea if she’s ever read Hemingway, nor do I intend to make her read any. That’s it. Shut the fuck up.”

Pete laughed, sat back and crossed his arms. “Sounds okay.”

“Yeah,” Patrick said, and his smile was small and a little dazed. “She really does.”

“’scuse me,” Andy nudged Pete with his knee. “I just remembered I have to get into the city,” he said as Pete slid over to let him out. “Trick can have my fries.” He threw ten dollars on the table and was halfway out the door when he heard Patrick’s low questioning mumble and Pete’s _…don’t know… just weird lately…_

Andy was long past due for a new tattoo.

**

“Hey, baby,” Patrick rumbled low into the phone, turning so he faced the window of the van. “No, we’re almost there,” he said and laughed low at Anna’s reply. Andy curled up tighter with his book – _The Virgin Suicides_ , a loaner from Pete—and tried to tune it out. They were almost to the venue and Andy jumped out of the van quickly when they pulled into the parking lot, not needing another round of ‘no, _you_ hang up first’. They quickly unpacked the trailer (the new one, after the Jersey Incident a few months back) and Andy let the techs at the venue help him with his kit.

One of them was named Melissa, or maybe Melinda, and she was cute in a lanky, skater way. After the show, Melissa-maybe-Melinda found him backstage and smiled and bit her lip and Andy let her take him home, back to a ratty apartment with an unmade double bed. He pressed her against the inside of her door, slid his hands over her pale skin, sucked at the piercing in her nipple, listened to her moan. It was hot, just like it had been with Abby-maybe-Addy in Cleveland and Kristen-maybe-Kirsten in St. Louis. It was good, and fun, and better than climbing in the van after a set and watching Patrick check his voice mail and smile softly to himself. It was better than sharing a room with Joe, or Charlie, or god forbid Patrick himself, laying there in the dark and hating himself quietly. When Melissa-maybe-Melinda came with a harsh cry, arching against her headboard, Andy looked down at her and thought maybe he was going about this the wrong way.

**

“Fuck,” Andy breathed as he came, his hand spasming on the toilet paper holder, head banging back into the blue metal of the stall door with a hollow thud. He blinked a few times before looking down. “Hey,” he said quietly, the word tasting bitter. “Um,” he bit his lower lip as the boy stood, short spiky hair brushing Andy’s sternum.

The boy kissed him quickly before Andy could react. He could taste the sweetness of rum and cokes under the salty bitter of himself and blinked at how much it didn’t gross him out, not really. “You’re welcome,” the boy (Danny, he was pretty sure this one was Danny, though the club was really loud) said with a knowing smile and reached behind Andy, unlocking the door and slipping out into the bathroom. Andy waited until he heard the screaming noise from the club through the open bathroom door before tugging his pants closed and following.

Back at the hotel, Andy slipped into his room as quietly as possible. Patrick was already passed out in the other bed, half on his stomach, fingers curling into his pillow. He paused for a minute just to watch and tried to shake the hotcold wave of nausea that snuck up on him. He’d been doing this for long enough that it was officially a secret, six months of random hookups in bar bathrooms and back alleys and backseats. He tried to make sure they didn’t look like Patrick. He tried to make sure he was getting off on it for all the right reasons.

And he was. Mostly. Andy was a pragmatic guy, and it made sense to him that liking dick was liking dick, and maybe he should make sure this Patrick thing wasn’t a fluke. And it wasn’t. Not by a long shot. By the third or fourth time (Jackson, that name he remembered, smiling), he wasn’t thinking about Patrick when a boy went down on him, biting at his hip and sucking him down like it was a fucking treat. Jackson had been so into it, and Andy couldn’t help palming a hand over the bulge in his jeans when he stood. When Jackson whimpered, a breathy “ _oh, fuck_ ”, against Andy’s collar, it had been easy to tug them open, slip his hand inside and jerk him off until Jackson came with a shudder.

It was the first time Andy had ever touched another guy’s dick, and it was surprisingly non-traumatic. Andy grinned at him and they ended up kissing lazily for another fifteen minutes before Jackson slipped away with a “hope I see you around here again” and a smile.

But that was five months ago, and they hadn’t made it back to New Mexico. And it had still never gone further than furtive blowjobs in semi-public places. Not that Andy didn’t think about it sometimes, pressing one of these boys into a wall and fucking him hard, but it wasn’t ever… right.

Patrick sighed in his sleep and shifted on his pillow. Andy retreated to the bathroom to shower and was annoyed to find a bite mark on his hip, high enough that it would be visible over the waistband of his low-rise jeans. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered and ran his fingers over the bruise.

**

“Oh my God,” Patrick said, eyes wide and laughing. He turned his face into Andy’s shoulder. “Please, tell me when its over.”

Andy laughed too, shaking his head and trying not to watch as Pete slid a little closer to his new protégé. Ryan Ross was a skinny little fuck, all big eyes and tentative smiles, with just a dash of hero worship that was visible all the way across the room. Pete wasn’t smooth, but with Ryan he really didn’t need to be. Pete put his hand around Ryan’s shoulder and Andy snorted into his soda as Ryan’s eyes got even bigger. “This is not going to end well,” he said quiet enough that only Patrick could hear.

“Please, seriously,” Patrick lifted his head and looked at Andy pleadingly. “If you love me at all, Hurley, don’t say another word. I want to pretend Pete isn’t about to get sued for sexually harassing an employee.”

“To be fair, the employee looks okay with it,” Andy noted and Patrick just groaned.

“We should never have let him go to Vegas.”

“Come on,” Andy tugged at Patrick’s arm. “Let’s get out of here before…” he paused as Pete leaned in close and whispered low in Ryan’s ear. Ryan opened his mouth and then shut it quickly, nodding and blushing. “Okay, now. Now is good.”

He and Patrick fled the party together, waving to Joe as they grabbed their jackets and laughing as they tumbled out into the night air. The hotel was more of a motel, with a large swimming pool in the middle that Andy knew better than to swim in. Dirty and Pete and Charlie had been out there all afternoon.

“Dude, he is seriously going to get arrested one of these days. He’s just lucky Jeanae’s parents are so easy-going.” Patrick shrugged into his hoodie and pulled his hat down.

“It’s not that bad,” Andy stuffed his hands in his pockets as they walked. It had been warm, but the sky was clear and the night was colder than he’d expected.

“Come on,” Patrick rolled his eyes. “It’s like he has a rulebook that says ‘no one over 18 allowed in my pants’.”

“Nothing wrong with liking ‘em a little young,” Andy said, glancing sidelong at Patrick. When Patrick looked back, windswept and grinning, Andy winked.

Inside Andy froze. Outside, he barely kept breathing. Patrick just blinked at him and then laughed, bumping his shoulder as they walked. “Classy, dude.”

“I try,” Andy covered, grateful his clammy hands were already in his pockets.

“It’s not like you bring your conquests back to the hotel room, though. Which I am grateful for, by the way.”

“No problem,” Andy laughed. It sounded a little hysterical in his own ears but Patrick didn’t seem to notice. “Figured you and your girl needed some alone time on the phone,” he forced a grin and Patrick blushed faintly.

“Yeah, well. Thanks,” he laughed. “If you ever need the room, though, just. It’s cool.”

“Okay,” Andy smiled at his feet, thinking of the look on Patrick’s face if he brought one of his ‘conquests’ back to the room. Like Carlos, the boy he jerked off last night in the back hallway of a hotel bar, cursing in Spanish as Andy bit at the tendon of his neck. Patrick might like Carlos—he’d been wearing a Morrissey shirt unironically.

They weren’t sharing a room that night—Andy had gotten Charlie in the room draw—but when they reached Patrick and Pete’s room, Patrick tugged at his sleeve. “Want to play some Nintendo, dude? Don’t leave me alone here,” he laughed and Andy didn’t even think about it.

“Sure,” he followed Patrick into his room and settled next to him against the headboard, ignoring the way his pulse sped up when Patrick tossed him a controller and smiled wide.

“Please don’t kick my ass so badly this time. It’s emasculating,” Patrick joked and Andy settled against his side.

“No promises, Stump.”

**

“I just. Can I just fly home and kick her ass?” Pete was talking quietly but his knee was shaking, a steady up-down motion that shook the table as Andy sat down, surveying it for breakfast possibilities. Joe looked pissed too, his jaw tightening.

“Not that I wouldn’t support it dude, but—“

“What’s going on?” Andy asked. He’d stumbled onto the bus just minutes before call, and was still barely conscious as the bus sped down some nameless highway to the next venue.

Pete looked at him sharply. “Patrick and Anna broke up last night,” he said venomously, and Andy didn’t need to ask whose idea it had been. “She was fucking cheating on him, can you believe that?”

Andy looked from Pete back toward the bunks. Patrick’s curtain was pulled tightly closed. “Seriously?”

“Fucking cunt,” Pete spat out.

“Pete,” Joe said, holding up his hand to make Pete lower his voice.

“He okay?” Andy asked, suddenly not hungry at all.

“Not really, no,” Joe muttered and Pete slid off the bench and stomped back to the bunks. Andy watched him shove Patrick’s curtain open and crawl inside, Patrick’s hoarse voice feigning annoyance until the curtain shut. “That’ll work until Pete tells him she was a stupid whore and he tries to defend her,” Joe said with a sigh and Andy sat back, dumbfounded.

“That’s. I mean, I didn’t see that coming,” he said finally.

“No one did,” Joe half-smiled. “I mean, who the fuck cheats on _Patrick_?”

Andy managed to avoid Patrick for most of the day. He just didn’t know what to _say_. He knew a sympathetic pat on the shoulder was more likely to piss Patrick off than be comforting, and he didn’t trust his hands anyway. They were at soundcheck by the time Andy managed to look at Patrick and say “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” Patrick said through clenched teeth, and Andy just nodded.

At the end of the show, Patrick disappeared fast and Andy took his time showering and changing. He was almost leaving when one of the venue ticket takers stopped him for an autograph.

“You guys were fucking awesome,” he said as Andy signed his poster, clearly ripped off the wall of the venue. Andy didn’t think anything of it until the boy slipped his thumb over Andy’s as he took his pen back. “So. You guys leaving right away?”

Andy wondered if he’d added another tattoo somewhere down the line, one that said ‘dick accepted here’.

“Uh, I don’t think so,” Andy bit his lip and the boy grinned.

“Awesome,” he replied and leaned in closer. “You want to check out the sound booth?” he asked and Andy glanced past him to the outside door to the venue. The whole band was probably already there, Joe and Pete and Dirty and Patrick, nursing a broken heart, and Andy felt like a total asshole, but yeah. He would much rather see the sound booth with… “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Luke,” the kid replied and Andy nodded.

“Let’s go,” he grinned and Luke led the way, glancing over his shoulder a few times like he wasn’t sure Andy was really there. It was nice.

“Here it is,” Luke opened the door to a small, dimly lit room at the top of the balcony area and Andy just closed the door behind them, nodding.

“Nice,” he said as Luke stepped into his chest, already breathing harder. “You come up here often?”

“Not really, no,” Luke smiled as he leaned in, and Andy let Luke lead the kiss, all lewd tongue and breathy gasps.

They weren’t at it long when Luke’s hands were on his fly, tugging and pulling until Andy’s jeans were around his thighs, Luke’s eager hands tugging on his cock until Andy was cursing into his mouth, pressing on his shoulder. Luke laughed against his mouth. “Okay, okay,” he nosed against Andy’s collar and Andy took a minute to think ‘yeah, this one isn’t too bad’ before Luke was sliding to his knees. Luke was good, really good at this, and Andy wasn’t thinking of anything much really, not about Patrick and the way he’d stomped through the show tonight, the way he’d avoided looking at anyone, the way his eyes were red and swollen… especially not about the door five feet away, and the fact that it was unlocked in a strange venue.

“Andy? Hey are you—“ Patrick’s voice cut through the blood rushing through Andy’s veins as the door slammed shut with a “fuck, fuck sorry”.

Luke pulled off wetly, eyes wide. “Shit, are you--” but Andy was already tugging his jeans closed.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Andy managed through the ice-cold shiver that rocked him to his toes. “Sorry, fuck,” he managed to say to Luke, still on his knees as Andy threw the door open and tried to figure out which way Patrick had gone.

He chose the wrong direction. By the time he trudged back to the bus half an hour later, Patrick was holed up in his bunk with music blasting.

“Dude, where the fuck were you?” Joe asked, already half-baked, and Andy shrugged him off. He stood outside Patrick’s bunk for a full minute before tugging his own bunk curtain open and crawling inside, heart beating fast enough to keep him awake through the wee hours of the night.

**

It was half a day before they were alone long enough for anything to come of it.

Andy wandered into the front lounge and Patrick was sitting in the sun, hat pushed back and earphones firmly on. Pete and Joe were both gone. Andy looked out the window to see a mega-truck stop. “Went for snacks?” he asked just loud enough that Patrick would hear him but not jump in surprise.

Patrick looked up and paused for a moment before nodding. Andy grabbed a Capri Sun from the fridge and headed back to his bunk. If he was lucky, Patrick would just…

“Andy,” Patrick said behind him, tentatively. He took a deep breath, then another, before turning around.

“Trick. It wasn’t,” Patrick was looking at him oddly, almost meeting his eyes but not quite making it. Andy’s stomach twisted. “I don’t know what to say, here,” he finally exhaled.

Patrick nodded shortly. “Yeah, okay.”

“It’s not something I do a lot,” Andy tried to explain, not quite sure if it was a lie. He didn’t hook up with guys nearly as much as he used to with girls, but it wasn’t like Luke was an aberration. “It’s just—“

“No, whatever, it’s fine,” Patrick said shortly, eyes back on his laptop. “Sorry if I fucked up your night.”

“Patrick—“

“No, look. It’s not my business, clearly, so. Whatever.” Patrick sounded _annoyed_ in that way that always translated into hurt, and Andy wanted to be comforting but all he could do was dig his nails into his palms and try his best not to punch something.

“It’s really not,” he said shortly and he cringed inwardly as Patrick’s head jerked up.

“Fuck you,” Patrick said viciously and Andy took a step back. “I was trying to apologize for interrupting your… whatever. Random gay hookup. Which I am being incredibly cool about not calling you out on, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Andy said with half a sneer he couldn’t stop. He took half a step outside himself and tried to stop it, tried to get himself to walk away, to let himself cool down about this, let the embarrassment wash away before he said something he couldn’t take back. Before… “You were right the first time, though. It’s really not your fucking business.”

“Right,” Patrick nodded, cheeks bright red as he swept his laptop up in one arm and pushed past Andy to his bunk.

Andy wished the door to the bunk area slammed as he slid it closed with as much force as he could. He collapsed on the couch and sucked at his drink, arms hugged around his body until Joe and Pete stomped back on the bus. Joe tossed a bag of barbeque soy crisps into Andy’s lap. Andy valiantly managed not to cry.

**

 _I’m sorry._ The note was short and attached to a new copy of The Smiths’ last album, the one Patrick had lost a month or so ago and bitched about weekly.

Andy left it on his pillow and waited. It had been a week since he’d made an ass out of himself and Patrick had been amazingly good at avoiding him. He just hoped things could go back… well, the way it had been was horribly frustrating, but at least then Patrick had _talked_ to him.

Patrick found him after the show that night, tugging him into the back lounge and leaning on the door.

“I just wish you’d told me,” he said, and Andy wasn’t sure that was where he wanted to start, with big confessions.

“I didn’t tell anybody,” Andy replied, slipping off his shoes and tucking his feet under him on the sofa.

“Yeah, I got that,” Patrick said with a half-smile and Andy’s breath caught in his chest.

“You didn’t say anything to Pete, right?” he asked. If Pete knew, this would all get a lot less easy a lot more quickly.

Patrick snorted. “Yeah, ‘cause that would be a great plan.” Andy exhaled in a whoosh. Patrick sat heavily on the couch next to him. “You okay?” he asked kindly, and Andy thought it was a little stupid, like he should still be the one asking Patrick that, after Anna.

He nodded. “Yeah. Mortified, but okay,” he shrugged with a small laugh and Patrick leaned back, sighing.

“So was that… I mean tell me to shut up if you don’t want to talk about it, but. Was that, like, an anomaly?”

Andy could say yes. He could just nod and shrug it off and Patrick would believe him. He glanced over and Patrick was watching him with his head tilted to one side, his eyes curious and… something else. Thoughtful. Intrigued. “No,” he admitted, looking Patrick right in the eyes. Patrick took a sharp breath and Andy’s palms itched in a way they hadn’t in months.

“Okay,” Patrick nodded slowly and chewed at his lower lip.

“I mean, the sound booth thing was a new one, and clearly I won’t be trying that again,” Andy scratched at his elbow and wrinkled his nose as Patrick let out a short laugh of surprise. “But yeah. Not so much a new thing.”

“How long?”

“A year, about. I don’t know,” Andy pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them tightly, pressing his cheek to his knees and watching Patrick. He’d been dreading this conversation for a year, but somehow it wasn’t as hard as he thought it would be. Patrick leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and watched him carefully. “It wasn’t a big thing, and then I guess it was, all of a sudden. And it didn’t really freak _me_ out, but I didn’t know how to not freak everyone else out.”

“We wouldn’t have freaked out,” Patrick shook his head and Andy raised his eyebrows. “Okay, fine, maybe we would have freaked out a little, but its not like Pete wouldn’t have been setting you up with every dude he knew within a week.”

“Yeah, that was kind of my worry,” Andy grinned and Patrick grinned back.

They sat in silence for a few minutes and Andy wondered if that was it, if all of his anxiety about this, about _Patrick_ finding out had been way overblown. Then Patrick cleared his throat a little and didn’t look up when he asked, “So. Was there, like. An impetus? Like, some particular guy you were dating or something?”

Andy tried to keep the flush out of his cheeks but his heart rate spiked and he thought, _fucking hell, Patrick. How do you do that?_ as Patrick twisted his hands in front of him. “No,” he choked out and Patrick looked up and caught his eyes. Andy held his gaze for a few seconds and Patrick’s eyes brightened in a way Andy hadn’t seen in over two years. He rubbed his hands on his knees and looked out the window. “No particular guy.”

“Oh,” Patrick replied after a second and Andy felt him stand up. “We’re cool, right man?” he asked and Andy managed a small smile, still watching the streetlights speed by.

“Yeah, Trick. We’re always cool.”

**

It was weird. Once Patrick knew Andy’s secret, it stopped meaning much since, well. Andy stopped hooking up with people.

“What about that one?” Patrick asked one afternoon, pressed against Andy in the MTV studios and pointing subtly at a PA with blue bangs and a sweet smile. _That one_ was pretty damn hot, to be fair, but Andy shook his head. “You don’t think that’s a terrible idea?” he asked with a wry smile and Patrick just shrugged and grinned.

“Ask if he’s doing anything after,” Patrick nudged him and Andy nudged back.

“ _You_ ask,” he laughed and Patrick shook his head.

“Not really my type,” he whispered close in Andy’s ear and Andy was saved from trying to answer by Joe’s elbow in his ribs.

“We’re on in ten seconds, guys,” he hissed and Andy made it through the on-air bit without blushing too badly.

“Seriously,” Patrick said in the green room after the blue-banged PA brought them some more water, “it’s been, like, two months.”

Andy shot him a _keep your fucking voice down_ look and Patrick sighed dramatically. “If you haven’t noticed, we’re a little busy these days, Patrick.”

“Whatever,” Patrick shot him a tolerant half-smile. “Pete can still manage random hookups, even in the middle of new album press.”

Yeah, well. I’m not Pete.” Andy shot back and Patrick shook his head.

“It’s not like you’re not hot enough to pull—“

“Maybe I’m looking for something a little more meaningful than that,” Andy mumbled and shuffled out of the room before he could register Patrick’s thoughtful stare.

**

“I brought provisions,” Patrick grinned from the doorway later that night. He held up a plastic bag from the drug store down the street. He’d gotten Andy a Coke and a bag of chips and a bag of M&Ms for himself, jumping onto the bed on his side of the room. Andy nodded and turned back to his comic. The TV was on in the large wooden cabinet, tuned to CNN on mute. The MTV stuff was over, but they had another three interviews scheduled for the next day, and a meeting with Bob about the tour dates.

“You in for the night?” he asked. Pete and Joe and Charlie had headed out to some club. Andy wasn’t in much of a club mood these days.

“Yeah, think so,” Patrick said and tugged off his hoodie. Andy was shirtless already—he’d taken to turning the A/C almost off in his hotel rooms. (Pete accused him of watching _An Inconvenient Truth_ one too many times.) Patrick flipped through channels with the mute still on, not really pausing on anything. A minute later he turned the TV off and cleared his throat. “So.”

Andy glanced over. “So?”

“So, um. I kind of met somebody.”

Andy curled his fingers around the edge of his comic to keep himself from throwing it against the wall. “Yeah?” he managed. Where the hell Patrick had managed to _meet somebody_ was beyond him. Maybe over the break in Chicago, after the album was finally in the can. Maybe someone from the studio. Maybe… “Exciting walk back from the Duane Reade?” he joked.

Patrick bit his lip, suddenly serious. “It’s been a long time coming, and I’m not sure he really feels the same way about me,” he mumbled, not meeting Andy’s eyes.

Faller. Faller or Darren Wilson, it had to be. Mainly because if it was Travis fucking McCoy, Andy was going to have to put his foot through a window. Travis was no where _near_ good enough for Patrick, and if he thought he could string Patrick along…

“Andy?” Patrick was watching him, almost smiling.

“Yeah, sorry.” He sat up slowly and tossed the comic aside. “Um. Does he know? How you feel?”

Patrick laughed lightly. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

Andy nodded, his heart racing stupidly. Patrick was actually sitting here talking to him about some other guy, and all Andy could think was he’d lost his shot. Again. “So, you’re—“

“Here’s the thing, right? I mean, it’s been forever since Tom, and its not like Anna and I weren’t, you know. Active? But it’s not really the same,” Patrick barreled through and Andy’s stomach dropped to his knees, “and this guy. I think he’s got a lot more experience with guys than I do, and I don’t want to be the fucking blushing virgin here. I mean, maybe at eighteen it would have been cute, but at twenty-one its kind of a joke.” He laughed nervously and Andy twisted his fingers in the bedsheets, knuckles turning white.

“Patrick, what are you—“

“Any chance you’d be up for a refresher course?” Patrick asked, chewing on his lower lip like he had no idea what that would do to Andy, to his ability to say no.

“What the _hell_ , Patrick?” Andy asked, voice almost a squeak at the end.

Patrick stood up and paced for a few seconds before settling on Andy’s bed, their thighs not quite touching. “It’s been, like, two months for you, right? So I figure, you get laid, I get over this insane case of nerves, it’s a win-win.” He looked down at his own hands as Andy sat frozen next to him, eyes fixed on the pale line of Patrick’s neck.

This could not _possibly_ be happening.

There were so many reasons this was a bad idea, they were hard to sort out-- all clamoring for attention in Andy’s head. Two in particular were huge and unmistakable: first and foremost was that Andy was _not_ any sort of expert on gay sex, seeing as he’d never actually had any. That and the fact that he was still stupidly, painfully in love with Patrick Stump.

But the second thought didn’t form like it should have. It took over and swelled and Andy’s hands shook a little when he reached out and pressed his fingertips to the side of Patrick’s leg, up the seam of his jeans. Patrick was offering, again, was _asking_ Andy to touch him, and he wanted to be able to, he wanted to touch, he wanted to hear. He _wanted_.

Patrick was gazing at him with those insanely green eyes when Andy looked back up, and he barely got through a nod before Patrick’s mouth was on his hungrily.

Andy moaned and leaned in closer. Patrick was turned into his side, hands sliding up Andy’s arms. Andy’s fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of Patrick’s neck and held him there as he slowed the kiss down, made it deeper, sweeter. Patrick made a small hitched sound, his fingers tightening on Andy’s biceps. By the time Patrick pushed at him, pressing him down to the mattress and licking a hot line down to Andy’s clavicle, Andy was already so hard he could feel the metal press of his zipper against his dick.

Andy closed his eyes, tried to will his heartbeat slower, but Patrick’s mouth was as skilled as ever, his hands drifting up Andy’s sides. Andy bit his lip and valiantly managed not to whimper when Patrick’s thumb grazed over his nipple, but he grabbed at Patrick’s back and pulled him closer. He bunched the fabric between in his fingers and yanked up, and Patrick shivered when Andy’s hand hit bare skin. When he pressed up further, Patrick grunted, annoyed, and sat back to yank the shirt over his head and toss it to the floor, his hat getting mixed up in the jumble.

In the three seconds that Patrick’s face was obscured by the shirt, Andy tried to figure out how the hell he got here, with Patrick flushed and shirtless over him. He was taking advantage again somehow, he knew that in the back of his mind, but Patrick didn’t let him finish the thought. His arm flailed to the side out of the shirt and he cursed, laughing. “Fucking clothes,” he grinned down at Andy and Andy couldn’t help but smile back.

“I keep telling you shirts are totally unnecessary,” he agreed and Patrick rolled his eyes.

“Maybe for you,” he shook his head, and Andy was distracted by the milky white of Patrick’s skin.

“Shut up,” he admonished and sat up to pull Patrick closer, biting at the soft tendon of Patrick’s neck.

“Fuck,” Patrick breathed against his temple. Andy wrapped his arm around Patrick’s waist and pulled him closer. Patrick swung one leg over Andy’s hips, straddling his lap. Andy traced his tongue over the pale freckles along Patrick’s shoulder. It was almost exactly like in his fantasies, except Patrick’s skin was slightly salty and Patrick’s breath was hot on his neck and Patrick’s nails were scratching along his back and okay. This was a trillion times better than anything Andy’s head had ever managed to come up with. He sucked hard enough to bruise and Patrick whimpered and shifted against him. The friction caught Andy by surprise and he bucked up with a gasp.

Patrick laughed, his pupils blown, his hair already sticking to his temple a little with sweat. “Two months, huh?” he asked with a sly grin, grinding his hips down. Patrick popped the button of Andy’s jeans open and slipped his fingers along the sensitive skin there. “You sure you’re up for this?”

“God, you have no idea,” Andy whispered against Patrick’s mouth, pulling him down to the bed and winding his calf around Patrick’s. Patrick didn’t break the kiss as he reached into Andy’s jeans and palmed over his cock. Andy bit down on Patrick’s lower lip in surprise and Patrick groaned, licking lightly at the spot.

“Fucking _pants_ ,” Patrick nosed against Andy’s throat before rising to his knees and tugging off Andy’s jeans. His boxers came with, the whole mess tossed to the side with Patrick’s shirt. Andy’s cock lay heavy against his belly and Patrick licked his lips again, absently. Andy knew if Patrick made any move at all to suck him off, it would be all over. He’d replayed that so many times in his head over the last few years, it was basically sense memory at this point—Patrick’s mouth plus Andy’s cock equaled instant orgasm.

Before Patrick could get any stupid ideas, Andy sat up again and tugged open Patrick’s jeans. His mouth was even with Patrick’s chest and he flicked his tongue over Patrick’s nipple. Patrick hummed softly, his fingers tangling in Andy’s hair as he kissed down his chest. Andy couldn’t help but smile against his skin as he felt Patrick try to suck in his stomach a fraction. He pulled Patrick’s jeans past his hips. “Andy, I—“, but whatever Patrick had been started to say died in his throat as Andy wrapped a fist around Patrick’s cock and tugged lightly. He was already leaking, skin hot and slick under Andy’s fingers, and Andy didn’t even try to stop himself from leaning in and sliding the plane of his tongue over the head slowly, noting Patrick’s shudder as his tongue piercing hit sensitive nerves. “Oh, God, don’t,” Patrick’s voice was tight and frantic, tugging on his hair until Andy looked up, running Patrick’s cock over his lower lip.

Patrick’s eyes were huge. “Seriously, you can’t just. _Fuck_ , Andy,” he pushed Andy back, kicking his jeans to the foot of the bed and laying back down to kiss him again. Andy hadn’t been kissed this much in… ever, probably, and he was sure his lips would be chapped and sore in the morning. He closed his eyes as Patrick’s tongue slid against his jaw and thought that it was a good thing most of tomorrow’s interviews were for radio, what with the beard burn they were both sure to be sporting in the morning.

Their kissing lost all focus when Patrick rolled on top of him and pressed down, their cocks sliding against each other. Andy’s brain short-circuited and he wondered why in the _hell_ he hadn’t done this before, with some willing boy in the last year, but then Patrick’s mouth was open and panting at his throat, and his strained “oh, fuck, _fuck_ ” made Andy’s spine tingle and he thought, _Right, this is why_.

They had just managed to find a rhythm that made Andy’s eyes roll into the back of his head when Patrick pulled away with a grunt. “Don’t. Fucking. Move,” he said before rolling off the bed and grabbing the plastic drug store bag. He dumped the contents onto the bed and Andy’s stomach tightened.

“Patrick,” he blinked at the pile of assorted condoms and bottles of lube.

“I know,” Patrick shrugged, blushing a little. “I didn’t know what you were used to, so I figured I’d just get an assortment? And don’t call me a fucking boy scout,” he grinned and climbed back into bed, settling on his back next to Andy. “I’m pretty sure they frown on this sort of thing.”

Andy was pretty sure he was going to throw up. Patrick didn’t know what he was _used to_? This was going to fuck up everything, if he did this. There was no going back, giving Patrick a second first time if he fucked this up. “Patrick, this is…”

“Come on, Hurley,” Patrick said low in his ear, pressing a bottle of lube in his palm. “It’s not going to fuck anything up.” Andy looked at him sharply. “I’ve known you forever, dude,” Patrick smiled at him. “You think louder than any guy I know. Besides, it’s not like I haven’t been practicing. I know what I’m in for.”

That was almost too much information. It was certainly enough information to make Andy’s cock throb with want at the mental image. Andy pressed his face into Patrick’s shoulder. “Fuck, Patrick, I just. This is kind of a big deal, you know?”

“Hey,” he nudged Andy with his foot. “I know. I do. I want it to be you, okay?”

Andy squeezed his eyes shut and wished he were a better person, that he could stop this. Instead, he kissed Patrick’s shoulder and slid to his knees. “Yeah, okay.”

The lube was cold on his fingers and Patrick hissed as Andy pressed his middle finger to his entrance. The angle was odd and reached up to grab a pillow, sliding it uncer Patrick’s ass. “Better?” he asked and Patrick nodded, eyes fixed on the ceiling, hands flat on the mattress.

When he pressed inside, Patrick’s breath caught hard. The pressure was hot and hard around Andy’s hand and he felt every inch as Patrick slowly relaxed around him. The second finger was harder, and Andy had to remind him to “breathe, Patrick, Christ,” even though he was barely breathing himself.

“I’m. It’s fine,” Patrick gritted out and Andy’s stomach twisted. What if he was doing this all wrong? Patrick relaxed in increments until Andy could slide his fingers in all the way, taking care not to force anything. He gave a few experimental thrusts and Patrick’s next breath was stuttered and shaky.

“Here, c’mon,” Patrick panted, hands scrabbling over the sheets to grab a condom and press it into Andy’s palm. His gaze shifted from the condom in his hand to where his fingers were slipping out of Patrick, slick and hot. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath through his nose. His fingers were shaking too hard to open the wrapper, and he couldn’t look up, couldn’t bear to see Patrick watching him, waiting for him to make this right, make this perfect. He felt the nudge of Patrick’s thigh against his hip. “Andy?” Patrick said, so quietly and Andy pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes, the plastic wrapper digging angrily into his palm.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he said brokenly.

“Andy--,” Patrick started, but Andy shook his head violently, eyes squeezed shut.

“I can’t fucking do this,” he whispered, his throat hot and tight.

Everything stilled around him as Patrick exhaled one shaky breath. When he spoke, his voice was tight and even. “Why?” Andy wondered how much tension it was taking, how much control to make it sound that way. When Andy hesitated, he added, “I was about four seconds away from begging, dude. You totally owe me at least an explanation.”

Andy sat back on his heels and leaned his head back, trying to not look at Patrick laid out in front of him, flushed and naked and _trusting_. “You deserve a hell of a lot better than me, Patrick. This should mean something, and I think—“

“ _Fuck that_ ,” Patrick growled, pushing himself up to a sitting position and shaking Andy’s hip until he looked down. His mouth was still swollen, ginger hair brushing bare shoulders, and there was a mark on his throat that made Andy remember the rush of his pulse under his tongue. “I asked _you_ , Andy. If you were—“

“I know, I’m an asshole, but if you really want to do this—“

“--going to be a _dick_ about it—“

“—you should probably ask someone who’s actually _done_ this before.”

“—you could have just said _no_. Wait, what?”

Andy could feel himself flush to his toes. He thought at least his erection should start to ebb away, what with the mortification, but Patrick was still so fucking close, so fucking _naked_ that Andy’s personal sense of self-preservation was totally overridden by his libido. When Patrick’s thumb brushed his hip gently, he shuddered.

“Andy,” Patrick sighed. “God, why didn’t you… If this isn’t what you’re in to—“

Andy couldn’t stop his small, surprised laugh. “That’s not it, Trick.”

Patrick rolled his eyes, a tiny grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, fuck. I mean, it’s been a year, dude. What the hell were you waiting for?”

Andy’s mouth went bone dry. He scrambled for an answer, something flippant and easy, but all he could focus on was Patrick’s hand on his hip, Patrick’s cock, inches from his own. _This_ is what he was waiting for, and now it was all slipping away. By the time he looked into Patrick’s eyes, he could see the realization dawning. He had to get up, get away before Patrick could drag the whole fucking thing out of him. He’d apologize tomorrow. He wiped his slick hand hastily on the bedspread and slipped one leg out from under him, edging off the bed.

But Patrick was faster, winding his arm tight around Andy’s waist and pulling him forward. “No,” Patrick said, firmly but a little panicked, and kissed him hard.

Andy didn’t even try to pull away, just leaned in and sighed. Patrick shifted him closer and Andy was thrown completely off balance, his whole weight pushing them both back down to the bed. Patrick’s arm never left his waist and they both moaned as their bodies lined up, Patrick arching as their cocks brushed together again.

 _Fuck_ , Andy thought, because Patrick clearly didn’t quite _get it_. Whatever his realization had been, it had clearly not been accompanied by the neon sign that read ‘Andy Is In Love With You. This Is A Bad Idea.’ that flashed so clearly across Andy’s brain. Patrick’s fingers tangled in his hair and his tongue teased against Andy’s piercing and god, life was so fucking unfair. “Trick,” he managed finally, pulling away with every fucking ounce of effort he could muster.

“Andy, yeah,” Patrick breathed against his neck before sucking hard, his hips rolling a little underneath them. Andy’s arms shook with the effort of holding him up, away from Patrick’s body.

“Fuck, Patrick, _stop_ ,” he hissed. Patrick did, falling back to the pillow with wide, green eyes, and Andy felt like crying. “I don’t—“

“I’m a little bit of an idiot,” Patrick said conversationally, still panting a bit. Andy was thrown off enough that he lost his train of thought entirely. “Cause, you know. When you like somebody, and you think maybe they like you but you aren’t sure, you don’t want to, you know. Put yourself out there? So you make up this stupid—okay, so it’s not exactly a _lie_ , about how there’s this guy you like? And you’re not sure if they like you back? And it’s just because it’s so much easier than saying ‘so, I’ve kind of been crushing on you for two months now, ever since I found out you like guys’, cause maybe that’s lame? A little? I mean, how the fuck do you say ‘hey, yeah, I know we’ve been friends forever and all, but I’d really like to have a lot of sex with you now’?”

Patrick ran out of steam when he realized that Andy hadn’t moved an inch through his whole speech. He bit his lip, worrying it a little between his teeth, and Andy felt a burst of heat in his chest, a wave of giddy, stupid happiness. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to say that for four years, Trick,” he answered finally.

“That’s. A really long time,” Patrick breathed.

“Yeah,” Andy nodded and Patrick pushed Andy’s hair behind his ear and tucked his hand behind Andy’s neck.

“C’mere,” Patrick pulled and Andy followed, letting Patrick gently kiss his cheek, his jaw, his mouth. “Should have told me,” he said against Andy’s lips and Andy just nodded and slid his hands down Patrick’s sides, laughing lightly as Patrick squirmed under him. “I’m ticklish, fucker,” he inhaled, and Andy palmed his hip.

“I know,” he grinned and Patrick growled playfully leaned in to nip at his neck, then at his earlobe, pausing when Andy whimpered.

“Like that, huh?” Patrick nosed against his neck before licking at the shell of Andy’s ear.

Hot sparks shot straight down Andy’s spine to his dick and he hitched his hips against Patrick’s thigh. “Yeah, oh, fuck,” he stuttered as Patrick’s licking turned to _sucking_ and Patrick ground up into him again, his cock pressed hot and hard into Andy’s belly. They rolled against each other for another minute before Patrick pulled back with a loud groan.

“I know this is all… _fraught with emotion_ now, or whatever,” he gritted out through clenched teeth, “but seriously? I still really, really want you to fuck me.”

Andy blinked down at him, his brain still trying to recover from the ear thing. Patrick grinned slowly at him. “Please?” he added and Andy just shook his head, grinning back.

“Manipulating, much?” he said, but Patrick was already pressing the bottle of lube back into his hand, shifting up on the bed so Andy could settle back between his thighs. This time it was easy, Patrick’s body opening for his fingers with a few stuttered sighs. Andy’s hand drifted up over Patrick’s stomach and Patrick’s hand grabbed his and held on tightly as Andy finger fucked him as deeply as he could go.

“Oh, oh, s-shit,” Patrick bucked when Andy’s middle finger stroked at just the right angle and Andy made sure to his that spot a few more times before sliding his fingers out slowly, gently.

Patrick didn’t even bother Andy with the condom wrapper this time, just ripping one open with his teeth and handing the condom over with an impatient “Here.”

“You’re an incurable romantic, Patrick,” Andy noted wryly as he rolled it on and Patrick’s huff came out more like a chuckle.

“Just. Don’t punk out on me again,” he replied and Andy couldn’t help himself, slicking up his cock and wrapping his other hand around Patrick’s. Patrick cursed and slammed his hand into the mattress.

Andy’s stomach was all butterflies again. Patrick was sweat-slick and flushed, watching him through half-lidded eyes, and Andy still wanted this to be perfect. _More_ perfect. He rested his whole weight on one arm and used the other to guide his cock forward, pausing when Patrick’s hands came up to grip his shoulders. “Stop thinking, Andy,” Patrick murmured, and Andy pressed forward as Patrick exhaled.

It was slow, agonizingly, amazingly slow and hot and tight, and Andy was pretty sure he would last about half a minute if Patrick didn’t relax a little here. He paused again when Patrick made a small chocked sound, his fingers scrabbling over Andy’s shoulders. “Fuck, Trick, what do you—“

“Don’t fucking stop, I swear to god,” Patrick whispered and shifted forward a fraction, winding one leg around Andy’s waist. All of a sudden, Andy was there, pressed all the way inside and Patrick was keening under him, muttering “fuck, fuck” under his breath as Andy fucked him slowly, his arms shaking from exertion. Patrick leaned up and Andy met him halfway for a kiss that was more whimpering contact than actual kissing.

When Patrick reached down to stroke his own cock, neck arching back at the contact, Andy had to close his eyes to not come right there. “Fuck, Patrick,” he breathed against Patrick’s neck. “Fucking wanted this. So long.”

“Andy,” Patrick panted, and then he was coming, hot streaks hitting Andy’s chest. Andy could feel Patrick’s orgasm everywhere, muscles tightening around him and reverberations from Patrick’s long, loud groan. Andy tried to keep his rhythm—slow and easy and gentle—but Patrick turned his head to bite at Andy’s ear again and his hips jerked enough to make them both curse.

“Sorry, sorry,” Andy shook his head and Patrick spoke low in his ear, his voice lazy and hoarse.

“Come on, wanna feel you come.”

If Andy had made his own perfect porn film, that would have _totally_ been the culminating line, with Patrick well-fucked beneath him, and it was only a few more thrusts before Andy felt a burst of heat along his spine, coming with a full-body shudder and collapsing into Patrick’s chest.

They lay there just trying to breathe for a few long moments before Patrick kissed his neck with a smile. “Not bad for a novice.”

Andy snorted. “Like you would know,” he replied and shifted a fraction, pulling out slowly.

“Point,” Patrick laughed. “But still, pretty fucking awesome, right?”

“Yeah, pretty awesome.” Andy rolled out of bed to toss the condom in the bathroom. His fingers were still tingling as he washed his hands. He caught his reflection in the mirror—flushed and red and peppered with tiny bruises—and shook his head in disbelief.

“Come snuggle with me, you asshole!” Patrick yelled from the other room. “You suck at this devirgining thing!”

Patrick was already tucked up under the covers. “Come on,” he tugged hard on Andy’s hand until Andy was pressed against his side. Patrick turned and tucked his head under Andy’s chin. “So,” he said, and Andy could tell he was smiling. “Four years, huh?”

“Yeah, well,” Andy’s cheeks burned but Patrick just nosed against his shoulder and sighed.

“I’m just saying, that’s a while.”

“Patrick—“

“I mean, I was, what? Seventeen?”

“Shut up,” Andy grinned into Patrick’s hair.

“No, that’s fine. I’m just going to have to get used to the fact that my boyfriend is a dirty old man, that’s all.”

“I hate you,” Andy answered, his fingers stroking over Patrick’s spine.

“I hate you too,” Patrick yawned. “Also, you get to tell Pete we’re dating tomorrow.”

“Wha- why me?”

“You’ve known him longer. Also, if he rips your arm off, you can still play one handed, like the dude in Def Leopard.”

Andy closed his eyes. “Your logic is truly terrifying.”

“You could have had me four years ago, and _my_ logic is flawed?” Patrick poked him in the side.

Andy thought about that statement for exactly half a second before deciding he could never, ever think about all that lost time ever again. “Point taken. Sleep.”

But Patrick was already out like a light, his hand curled around Andy’s wrist. Andy lay in bed and grinned at the ceiling for a while longer.


End file.
